


She's Not Home

by StarXrossed



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:35:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarXrossed/pseuds/StarXrossed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was easier to live in delusion rather than to accept the fact she was gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She's Not Home

**Author's Note:**

> HEY HERE WE GO SOME SADGAN RONPA BASED ON A PROMPT MEGAN DIDN’T INTEND TO ACTUALLY BE A PROMPT BUT I’M A MASOCHIST  
> \-- An AU where Chihiro actually dies and Mondo and Ishimaru build Alter Ego as a way of dealing with her death.
> 
> not the exact prompt but close enough to get the point across yeah so there’s implied #dangan ronpa spoilers

It had been nearly two years since the day she’d died.  
  
Ishimaru remembered it well, whether he wanted to or not.  The dull thick sound of metal on flesh, on bone.  The blood—  _god_  the blood, there was so  _much_  of it—it was hard to believe anyone so tiny could have so much.  Mondo curled up around her form, cradling her head in his lap, murmuring gently “no, Chihi, hold on, you’re okay, you’re good,” rocking back and forth, frantically yelling at Ishimaru to call an ambulance, why won’t they hurry the fuck up, Chihiro no stay with me please  _Chihi please_.  
  
Ishimaru could still hear the muffled sobbing Mondo had tried to hide the entire ambulance ride.    
  
“We’re home!”  
  
The sudden voice drew Ishimaru from his reverie, as Mondo and Chihiro walked into the room.  The black haired boy forced a smile, waved from his seat at the kitchen table.  ”How was the ride?”  
  
“It was great!” Mondo answered cheerfully.  ”It was great having someone ride with me again.”  
  
“I enjoyed it very much,” Chihiro piped up from behind Mondo.    
  
“Was it more fun than last time?” Ishimaru asked.  It wasn’t until the words left his mouth that he realized what he’d said, and he cringed inwardly.    
  
Chihiro slowly tilted her head to the side, her expression one of confusion.  ”Last…time?”  
  
“Yeah, Chihi, we went riding a year or so ago!” Mondo laughed, reaching over and squeezing Chihiro’s hand.  ”You were laughing almost as much as last time!  Don’t you remember?”    
  
Ishimaru’s brow furrowed—Mondo couldn’t disguise the faint pleading tone in his voice, and even if Chihiro hadn’t noticed it,  _he_  had.    
  
She tilted her head to the other side, looking up with Mondo with her wize hazel eyes.  ”Really?”  
  
“Yeah!  But if you don’t remember it, that’s okay—we’ve got today’s memory to make up for it,” the biker grinned.    
  
Chihi’s face relaxed slightly, though she still looked perplexed.  Still, she nodded slowly, still gripping Mondo’s hand.  ”…right!”    
  
The boy laughed, then gently tugged the small girl towards their shared bedroom.  ”Well, we’re gonna go clean up.  You’re still cooking dinner tonight, Ishimaru?”   
  
Ishimaru nodded, rising from the table.  ”Of course.  I was waiting on you two to get home safely for me to start.”  
  
“Well, all’s well with us, so I’d say you’re good!” Mondo answered with a laugh.  ”C’mon, Chihi, let’s go.”    
  
The black haired boy watched as Mondo led Chihiro along until they disappeared through their door.  He grimaced; it wasn’t obvious to most people, but he couldn’t pretend to not notice the slight stall in Chihiro’s reactions, the way her motions weren’t completely fluid.  Maybe it was just so apparent to him, knowing what he knew.    
  
He was mostly done with his preparations—that night’s meal was stirfry—by the time Mondo and Chihiro returned.  Mondo sniffed the air and grinned at Ishimaru.  ”Aha, stirfry!  Haven’t had that in a long time.”  
  
Ishimaru’s lips twisted into a grimace.  Of course they hadn’t—it was what they’d had right before she had died.  Still, he forced a laugh.  ”Well, hopefully it’s up to par!  I used steak—that’s your favorite, right, Fujisaki-kun?”  
  
There was a long pausel Chihiro’s brow furrowed as she worked the question over in her mind.  ”I…I don’t know, Ishimaru-kun.”  
  
“You love steak stirfry, Chihi!” Mondo offered, ruffling her hair.  ”You used to request it all the time, we almost got sick of it!”  
  
Chihiro blinked slowly, then nodded tentatively.  ”I don’t remember that, but I trust you, Mondo….!”  
  
Ishimaru turned away from the duo so that they wouldn’t see his obvoiusly pained expression.  This was wrong.  This was so wrong  Nothing about this was normal.    
  
“C’mon, Ishi, is it chow time yet?”    
  
But now wasn’t the time to dwell on those thoughts.  Ishimaru tried his best to push everything to the back of his mind, tried to act friendly and cheerful throughout the meal, but still, he couldn’t stop himself from fixating on Chihiro: the slight hesitation in most of her movements, the vagely detached feeling of her words,  It was unnerving watching her.  
  
Once they had all retreated to their rooms, Ishimaru found himself staring at the ceiling, immersing himself in his thoughts again.  It had been nearly two years.  He’d watched the doctors do their best to repair the damage to Chihiro’s skull, to stem the blood flow, to pick the shards of white from the grey and pink matter.  God, there was so much blood.  Mondo had given up trying to hide his tears, now focusing his efforts on watching in horror as the doctors worked.  Ishimaru could only imagine how he was feeling—under his breath, Mondo whispered, “it’s my fault it’s all my fault goddamn it no please Chihi  _please_  I’m so sorry”, clinging to the phrases like a mantra.  Ishimaru had gently touched Mondo’s hand, and the tears had started anew.  ”Chihiro,  _please_.”  
  
Ishimaru still remembered when Chihiro first mentioned her pet project to him.  ”Ishimaru-kun?”  Ishimaru set down his paper.  Those big hazel eyes stared at him, innocent and wide.    
  
“What’s the matter, Fujisaki-kun?”  
  
“If…if you could start over, would you?”    
  
The boy blinked confusedly.  ”What do you mean?”  
  
“If you could pour your heart and mind and soul into a program, could basically recreate yourself, but stronger, more capable…would you?”  
  
Ishimaru listened intently as Chihiro described her work, an AI that she affectionately referred to as “Alter Ego”.    
  
It was the conversation that ultimately spurred Ishimaru’s suggestion for _her_  creation.  He had not expected Mondo to take him so seriously.  
  
Mondo had enlisted the assistance of Souda and Yamada.  Being a Super High School Level Mechanic, Souda was well-versed when it came to working with small machines and toys, and constructing the tiny mechanisms and joints within the five-foot tall mannequin had been child’s play for him.  Their motions were fluid, almost human-like; if one didn’t know better, it could have been a real human.  Yamada had had plenty of experience when it came to figurines and cosplay—he seemed the obvious choice when it came to asking for advice on the best places for contacts, wigs, and the sort.    
  
In truth, the replica looked so similar to the original, it fooled everyone.  
  
Everyone except Ishimaru.  
  
He watched quietly, day by day, as Mondo tried his best to remind  _her_  of all the things Chihiro loved, all the memories Chihiro had made, all the minor quirks that made Chihiro so inherently “Chihiro”.  Mondo blamed the hospitalization, claimed that the accident had hurt Chihi’s brain, that she was just tired, that she was just sick, that she was still the same Chihiro.  
  
But even if he could fool everyone else, Ishimaru knew the truth.  
  
Ishimaru  _knew_.    
  
Mondo could delude himself into a state of dreaming, wishing that things were the way they were before the accident, convincing himself that nothing bad had happened, Chihi was Chihi, she was just sick and tired that’s all.    
  
But Ishimaru knew the truth, and it killed him a little every day watching as Mondo repeated back old memories to  _her_  in an attempt to jog some nonexistant thought from Chihiro, something that would bring the Chihiro that he had loved back to the surface.  It killed him every day when he had to assist  _her_  with her coursework, problems and question sets that Chihiro would have found simple, but that  _she_  struggled with.  It killed him watching  _her_  strange expressions,  _her_  confusion to everyday things,  _her_ halting movements, so  _human_  and yet so  _inhuman_ , right in the deepest part of one’s uncanny valley if they knew what to look for.    
  
And it killed him watching Mondo’s face light up every time she was around, because he knew that Mondo wholehearted believed this crude little charade   
  
But Ishimaru did not—he knew the truth, and he refused to forget it, try as Mondo might.   
  
“Chihiro” was not  _their_  Chihiro.  No, “Chihiro” was a puppet, a mechanical being powered by a computer that was only a shadow of its creator.  She didn’t live.  She didn’t breathe.  She wasn’t human, she wasn’t  _natural_.  
  
She wasn’t  _Chihiro_.  
  
At least, not to Ishimaru.    
  
But not to Mondo.  No, as far as he was concerned,  _she_  was the real McCoy.  She looked like Chihiro, sounded like Chihiro, even shared the same little quirks and idiosyncracies.  She  _was_  Chihiro.    
  
And yet, she wasn’t.    
  
“Oowada-kun.”  
  
The gang leader in question looked up from the book he had been reading—an encyclopedia on motorcycles, a gift from Ishimaru and Chihiro (the  _real_ Chihiro)—and quirked an eyebrow at Ishimaru.  “‘Sup, Ishi.”  
  
“Where’s…Fujisaki-kun?”  
  
“Oh, she went to bed early!” he smiled, looking down at his book again.  ”Poor thing, she hasn’t been getting enough rest recently.  Keeps inssiting on staying up late working on things, god only knows what things, but hey, it’s the weekend, so I say let her get whatever rest she needs, right?”  
  
Ishimaru clenched and unclenched his fists, choosing his words carefully.  ”Oowada-kun, she…doesn’t need rest.”    
  
“Sure she does!  Everyone needs rest, c’mon, man, isn’t that the reasoning you always use to make us go to bed before eleven?”  
  
“No, Oowada-kun, you…you  _know_  what I mean.”  
  
Mondo frowned but didn’t look up.  ”No, I don’t.  What the hell are you talking about?”  
  
A slow exhale, then, “Mondo, she’s not tired.”  
  
“Yes she is.”  
  
“She’s  _not_.  She can’t  _get_  tired.”  
  
“Shut the fuck up, Ishimaru—she’s sick, she’s tired, that’s it.  She just needs to rest, just needs to get better, that’s all—”  
  
“She’s not  _sick_ , she can’t  _get_  sick—”  
  
“She’s just fucking  _sick_ —”  
  
” _Mondo, she’s gone_.”  
  
Their voices had been increasing in volume steadily, and now Mondo was on his feet, right in Ishimaru’s face, eyes blazing.  ”What the  _fuck_  did you just say.”  His voice dropped down to a low hiss, deceptively calm, almost a warning that Ishimaru was playing with fire.  
  
But it was too late to retreat, they were past the point of no return.  ”She’s  _gone_ , Mondo, she’s de—”    
  
He was cut off by a sharp blow to the stomach.  He stumbled backwards, reeling around, struggling to regain the air he had lost, realizing he should have seen Mondo’s reaction coming.    
  
“You’re fuckin’  _lying_ ,” Mondo snarled, his fists still clenched.  ”You fuckin’ _prick_ , she’s  _fine_ , she’s just fuckin’ sick, that’s all—”  
  
” _Mondo!_   You can’t keep deluding yourself—”  
  
“Who’s doing any deluding, there’s nothing to delude over—”  
  
“This isn’t  _healthy_ , you’re in denial—”  
  
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, she’s fucking  _fine_ , Ishimaru, she’s just fucking  _tired_ —”  Now it was Mondo’s turn to reel backwards, as Ishimaru delivered a right hook to his jaw.  The biker went down, his face slamming into the ground as he did.    
  
“She’s  _not_  fucking  _tired_!” Ishimaru shouted, his knuckles beginning to bruise and sting from where he had punched Mondo.  ”You  _idiot_ , can’t you see how much she’s hurting you?  God, you keep believing that they’re the same person, but they’re  _not_.  Fucking hell, Mondo, this is  _killing_  you.  And it’s killing me watching you put yourself through this.”  Tears were pricking the corner of his eyes, threatening to spill over, but still he continued his tirade.  ”Mondo, she’s gone.  She’s been gone.  And no robot, no AI is ever going to replace her.  You  _know_  that, why can’t you accept it?”  
  
Mondo hadn’t moved since he had hit the ground, but now he turned his face back to Ishimaru.  Blood dribbled from his lips and nose, his eyes red and cheeks marred with salty trails.  He spoke in a low, quiet voice.  ”Why can you accept it so easily?  I wasn’t the only one that killed her.”  
  
Ishimaru cringed.  He knew  _exactly_  to what Mondo referred.  Mondo had been the one to accidentally hit Chihiro with a barbell when the two had been weightlifting.  But when the doctor had asked whether or not to keep Chihiro on life support, Ishimaru was the one to ultimately pull the plug.    
  
He knew Mondo resented him for it—for weeks, he had refused to speak to Ishimaru, refused to acknowledge his presence.  In fact, it was Ishimaru mentioning Alter Ego that caused Mondo to speak to him again.    
  
“I loved her, Ishimaru.”  Mondo’s voice was shaky, strangled.  ”I fucking _loved_  her.  And we  _killed_  her.  How am I supposed to get over that, please explain to me how the fuck I am.”  
  
“M-mondo—”  
  
“Ishimaru, you think it’s fucking hard on you?  Can you put yourself in my shoes for one goddamn minute.  What if you killed the person you loved most in the fucking world.  What if you had a chance to bring them back.  What if you could a second chance, to make up for everything you fucked up, wouldn’t you  _fucking do it_?”  Now Mondo was crying full-on, not even bothering to stem the flow of tears.  ”I fucked up with Daiya, I’m not doing it again, Ishimaru.  I’m fucking  _not_.”    
  
Ishimaru’s cheeks felt wet and hot, but even he knew that he wasn’t crying as badly as Mondo was.  He was crumpled over now, clutching at his arms, shaking violently, his voiced hoarse and weak.  ”Ishimaru,  _please_ , don’t fucking take this from me.  Please.  Please, her Alter Ego’s the only thing I have left of her,  _please_.”  
  
“Mondo….”  
  
“Mondo, Ishimaru, what is wrong?”    
  
Both boys whipped around and saw Chihiro standing in the doorway, her expression confused.  Her voice, though—it was so different from normal.  It was stilted, almost mechanical, and it made Mondo break down into renewed sobbing.  It took Ishimaru a moment to realize why—Chihiro, no, _Alter Ego_  had never had to process this information before.  It had never seen Mondo cry.  It didn’t know how to deal with it.    
  
“I am…not…Chihiro?” it said in Chihiro’s voice, the halting tone with which it spoke making a chill run down Ishimaru’s spine.  
  
Mondo was inconsolable, unable to lift his head and look it in the eye.  Ishimaru, on the other hand, stood his ground; he looked it head-on and spoke in a quiet voice.  ”No, Alter Ego.  You’re not.”  
  
And as if a switch had been flipped, Alter Ego straightened up, clasping its hands in front of it, a serene smile on its face.  ”I am Alter Ego!  My master is Chihiro Fujisaki.  What is the matter, Oowada-san?  Ishimaru-san?”  
  
Ishimaru looked from the weeping Mondo to the confused Alter Ego and cringed.  It wasn’t his place.  Mondo was the one who needed to explain everything—Mondo was the one Alter Ego knew best, the one the AI trusted.  He turned on his heel and closed the door, wincing as he heard the soft mechanical voice conversing with the ragged deeper one until he fell into a fitful sleep.  
  
Ishimaru couldn’t hide his pained expression the next morning when he saw Mondo and Alter Ego at the table the next morning, conversing as if nothing had happened.    
  
He was calling her Chihiro again.


End file.
